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13: Nicholas.

It’s bad.

Catastrophic.

When our truck arrives on the scene, it’s mayhem. The streets surrounding the out-of-control fire are littered with cops trying to corral pajama-clad tenants behind caution tape, EMTs treating burn victims and giving oxygen to others. Trucks are in haphazard rows, ladders raised, hoses drilling water into the building from all sides. There is no organization whatsoever.

I’ve barely stepped out of the truck and opened the equipment compartment when a woman in a fuzzy pink robe rushes toward me, grabbing me by the front of my turnout coat.

“Please…” Her eyes are wild, the fire reflecting in their depths. “I can’t find my mother. I-I…she’s older and moves slow. I was in a rush to get my kids out, but when I went back for her, she wasn’t in her bed.”

Clement steps up beside me. “Did you check to see if she was being treated?”

“She’s not. I’ve looked everywhere.” The woman presses a hand to her mouth and turns in a circle. “There’s no way she could have gotten out f
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